The following story is a work of fiction, set in the format of reality. Any resemblance to real people is entirely coincidental in nature, and is not meant to accurately reflect upon persons in towns, cities, or governmental areas, in which the story is staged. If a sexual scene involving male-to-male relationships offends you, then you should not read this story. Additionally, if you are under 18 years of age, in most state and countries, you are not allowed to read this story by law. This is fiction. Do not forget, in real life, to think about 'sexual safety matter'; got condom?
"Out In The Wild, Wild West" 17 wriTten by T. Chase McPhee
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"Keep at it, Arthur. It's the last chance we're going to have at freedom."
"And where did this deep', heartfelt', `brotherly' sense of love and devotion come from all of a sudden, Artemis?"
Thinking quickly, Artemis Gordon, tied up with the anchor and other gear, aboard Captain Skinner's vessel, replies, "Listen, when we consider what deep shit we're in, Arthur, one can't point the finger."
Arthur Foxworth thought that to be a rational answer and went back to gnawing the ropes binding his wrists, on the cut glass. Not wanting to spend two years adrift at sea, along with all the duties of the captain and crew's `bitch', slave and other degrading positions, the two worked feverishly to sever their bindings, before she sets sail.
"I think I've got it!" Artemis shouts out, feeling something around his right wrist, give.
"Good. Hurry and get free, then untie me," Foxworth agitatedly responded, stopping at his own efforts of release.
Artemis Gordon very quickly released his right wrist, then left side. Bending forward, as he sat on the floorboards of the ship, he loosened his ankles.
"Hurry, Artemis! I think I hear one of the crew coming!"
However, as Gordon freed himself, he stood tall, in front of his seated companion, rubbing his wrists.
"C'mon Artemis! Hurry! Release me!"
"On second thoughts, Arthur, I feel a couple of years, for you at sea, might do us both some good!"
As Artemis left the hold, he could hear every naughty word, in the book, hurled at his back. Being the sleek, sly character he could be, when the situation warranted it, he ducked into one of the crew quarters. In a wooden chest, he found some articles of clothing befitting a man on board of a cargo vessel. With his mastering of disguises, he used ordinary materials, lying about, to doctor up his features. With the perfect of disguises, he was easily able to slip past the crew. Even Captain Skinner didn't catch on, when Artemis accidentally crossed his path, on deck. They rubbed elbows.
"Pardon me, cap'n," he conjured up, in a raspy voice.
Walking with a limp, Gordon found his way, down the gangplank. Buried in the sea of sailors and the busy wharf traffic, he made his getaway.
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"You're a very lucky man, Mr. West, after the ordeal you just told me about."
"Every word James has told you, is the truth too, Dr. Lee."
"Oh, I don't doubt it, Mr. Birch, considering what I have been doctoring him up for, what? How many a year has it been, Mr. West?"
"Let's see now," Jim ponders, "I'm thirty-five. Started with the Secret Service when I was out of college... it has to be fifteen years, give or take one or two, Dr. Lee."
"Is that how long you two have been connected?" Robert Birch asks.
Dr. Lee looks at Jim, whom gives him a sassy look back, then replies to the thirty-six year old, "Um, I think `connected' might be a poor choice of words, Bob!"
After Birch watches the two exchange glances, he then gets a second opinion, stating, "I mean, when you two first met up?"
However, what Robert Birch is really wondering, is if Dr. Lee looks so hot on the outside, what is he packin' underneath?
Jim offers, "I think you ought to check this fellow out, as well, Dr. Lee," he takes Birch's arm in his and pats him on the back.
"Me? Oh no, James. I'm as fit and rugged as ten men!" He began to circumvent his feelings, evading Jim's notion.
Robert Birch turns, watching James put the finishing touches on his tie, take his jacket from the coat rack, place his hat on his head and make his exit. He too, tries to leave with James, however, a hand on his chest, presses him back inside, the door closing.
"What do you make of that, doctor..... oooooooh my!"
Making an about face, Robert's face shows the astonishment of Dr. Lee, standing tall, his pants sliced open in the middle and a soft, fat shaft careening outwards, like a waterfall. His hands are placed on his hips, as if a dominant master, waiting for his boy.
"Why don't you lock the door, `young man', so that we are not disturbed for your examination?"
`Oooooh my," Robert again resounds. As he goes for the lock on the door, he informs Dr. Lee, "But I'm not a bottom. I'm..."
"While you are in `my' office, you are whomever I please you to be!"
"Hey, now wait a minute. First things first, here..."
Most likely, it's the finger, waving in his face, that Dr. Lee opposed to. What else would cause him to remove a hand from his comfy stance and slap Robert Birch across the face. Twas a powerful hint, too, as it sent him flying to the side, landing him on his knees.
"Why you!"
Short-lived, became the battle of the tops. Robert looked promising, as his six foot height towered over Dr. Lee's five feet, nine inches. However, Birch had been brought up on fists and guts, whereas Lee's predecessor's used science and precision, coupled with one's inner being. In no time, he had Robert Birch flat out on the examination table. Before Robert could recover from his dazed position, Dr. Lee had a strap over his legs, at the ankles and thighs.
"Hey! What the fuck is this?" Birch yelled out.
Bringing from the traditional manner of securing the insane', the thirty-four year old doctor had secured Robert's wrists above his head. Attaching to each, a metal handcuff securing his right wrist, wrapped over a hook in the wall and then fastened to his left wrist. Returning to the foot of the table, Dr. Lee threw a fit of terror into Robert, grinning, as he attached a leather binding around his left ankle. Next, he fidgeted with a latch, under the table. All Robert Birch could do, is allow his legs to become separated, right up to the middle, causing the lower portion of his body to take on the shape of a rather wide V'.
"Heeeeey! What the fuck you doing, Lee? I ain't no James West here," Birch replied, regarding West's abilities to take massive amounts of pain and still get a tickle out of it.
Not owing an explanation, but deciding to prolong the misery of Birch's mental state, Lee replied, "Ah, yes, however it is Mr. West whom became the very reason for me to `alter' my medical practice?"
"Noooo... what the fuck you going to do to me?"
"Unfortunately for you, Mr. Birch, you will not be able to see!"
Robert's world became blackened, as Dr. Lee began wrapping a black cloth around his head, obscuring his vision. Robert Birch cursed out loud, hurtling not only nasty words, but insults, plus words that would suggest his intent to get even with James West!
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"Well, hello boys!"
"Don't you know how to fuckin' knock?" J J asked.
"Sorry big brother, but we don't have anyplace else to go."
"I think we can make some room for you two in here," Braedon replies.
He lifts the cover of the rather large bed the two have been nesting in, inviting Sean and his younger friend in, next to him. Setting the pace, the eighteen year old begins to loosen the buttons of his shirt.
"C'mon, Cal, it's okay."
"I don't know, Sean. I never..."
JJ points out, "Yeah, nothing to be afraid of, Cal... except Brae's bad breath...owwwwch! What'd you do that for, Brae!"
Getting even, Braedon slapped his big hand onto JJ's stomach, the one he used in the pub to swat his little brother's ass. Branded on JJ's stomach, a bright red hand-shaped welt appeared.
Sean had stripped down way faster than Cal, whom had lost the shirt only, by the time Sean was ready to slip under the covers.
"Hey, where do you think you're going?"
"Just because you invited us into the bed, big brother, doesn't mean I have to enter from your side."
"Yeah," agrees JJ.
Sean mentions, "Besides, it wouldn't be the first time JJ and I...oops!"
This time, JJ protected his stomach, folding over into the eighteen year old, like a salami sandwich.
"You've been two-timing me!" Braedon yelled out, the hand up, readying to strike anywhere that suited him.
"I think I better go," came the meek voice, which diverted Braedon's attention.
First looking at his hand, Braedon lowered it, smacked it against his other big hand, as to finish up a big project, slapping the dust away.
"Now look what you went and done, big brother!" Sean blamed.
By now, Cal had begun to re-shirt his body, his right arm diving for the sleeve, as his left hand held the collar. He looked behind his back, to recover the escaping fabric.
"Hey, now what a minute there, Cal," Braedon called out.
Brushing the covers away, the twenty-five year old hopped out of bed.
He heard his little brother whisper to JJ, `hee hee... look's like Brae's got the hots for Cal!', but overlooked it for the time being. Ignoring the two, he missed JJ sweetly caressing Sean, hands all over his body, as well as lips.
"No, I better go."
"You don't have to go, Cal. Things aren't what they look... I mean seem."
"I don't know, Brae," the seventeen year old said, stationary, with one arm in the sleeve, one out.
"Hey, look," Braedon tried explaining, a hand on a hip, finger and thumb touching the bridge of his nose.
If he had been fully facing Cal, he would have noticed the eyes traveling up and down his body. It's not until he collected himself that he found the journey taking place.
"What?" Braedon asked, looking himself up and down.
Realizing what had just taken place, he smiled.
"Hee hee, wanna touch me?"
"Um," Cal replied, matter-of-factly, with little else to say, "I dunno." Then, back in his face, Braedon got, "Wanna touch me?"
Sean pipes up, "He's wanted to do that since we were in the pub last night!"
Cal could not see the middle finger showing on Braedon's finger, as he held it up, for the privileged ones benefit, behind his back.
To make matters more suspenseful for Braedon, Cal picked up on Sean's tip, asking, "Is that true, Brae?"
"Um, well..."
"I mean, I'm only seventeen years old and you're twenty-two?"
"Five."
"Whoooa, twenty-five. Oh, you're a lot older than me."
Trying to weasel out of it, as Cal is really beginning to interest him, significantly, he states, as if an excuse, "We're not that, proportionately older, as them two," pointing his thumb back at the bed.
"How old is, um... him?"
"JJ? Twenty-two."
"One," JJ corrects Braedon."
"He's almost twenty-two," Braedon says, on the side so that only Cal's ears hear it.
"Let's see, then. That makes them four years apart."
"And we're only six," Braedon figures, then adds, "and if you consider that only two years more, than....what's two years?"
"Is that why..."
"Why what, Cal?"
"Why your cock is so hard?"
Looking down, Braedon looks at his semi-hard shaft, almost pointing at Cal, like a compass.
"Well, uh," Braedon stutters.
"Is your cock hard, because you want me, Brae?"
"Um, I"....
Before Braedon can search for a meaningful, down-to-earth, scientific or otherwise explanation, Cal is on his knees!
Before he helps himself, he asks, "Is it alright if I lick it?"
"Um... sure, but I think you might be more comfortable in the bed, Cal. That is if `you' feel comfortable?"
"'Floor is kind of tough on the knees."
On the way to the bed, Cal's shirt lay strung out on the floor. When both of them returned to the covered mattress, with bed-clothing and bodies, they received a cheer from it's occupants.
"Yeah, Cal," Sean cheered him on, adding, "make big brother suck you off, too!"
"I'm warning you, little brother!" The big hand rose into the air.
"Watch it, will you, Sean," JJ reprimanded, "I'm right in his line of fire!"
"Maybe I shouldn't..." the seventeen year old began backing off again.
"Oh no you don't!" Braedon intercerpted him, before he could turn, his thumbs embedded in the lip of the teen's beltline. Then, sweeter, he coaxed, "That is if you still want to?"
"Yeah, I want to," Cal replied.
For a few macro-seconds, the two stare at each other. It's Cal that broke the ice, placing his smaller hands on Braedon's larger ones. Moving both sets, Cal gave Braedon the hint, his permission for him to proceed to undo his pants. Sitting there, his nose even with Cal's teen bellyhole, the tight treasure trail sinking below the pant's line, Braedon went at the task.
Cal's hands remained at his torso, until the fabric gave loose, when Braedon's fingers undid its latch. So intent on the disrobing of the teen's torso, he didn't catch on to the activity behind him. Both, JJ and Sean had propped themselves up, taking backseats to the action. Braedon actually sweated in anticipation of what he would find, when he unveiled the teen cock.
Looking over, past Braedon's blonde head of hair, he smiled when he connected eyes with Sean's. A toothy grin showed. Then he paid more attention, when the weight of his own hands caused his pants to fall, like snow in an avalanche. Looking down, he could swear that he saw Braedon's lips drooling, as he changed his stare from face, to crotch.
"Go for it big brother," came Sean's strong suggestion.
This time, Braedon didn't flinch a muscle. Instead, he licked his lips, especially when he viewed, what he saw to be, a tent growing in the seventeen year olds crotch. Maybe by the power of suggestion, or the driving will of his own hormones, but Braedon's fingers grew inpatient of the wait.
"Oooooh!" Cal sighed, as the shorts came down, clipping his cock, as if spring-loaded with a rubber slingshot.
On the rebound, Braedon, shrugging off all pretensions of the top position, leaned over and caught the bounding erection in his mouth. Pursing his lips, he pressed inward, to the lightly haired pubes.
Out of his mind with pleasure, of his first blowjob, Cal's hand grabbed the top of his head. He squinted, at the intense pleasure, head rolling backwards, his mouth opening, to form an `o', eliciting pleasurable tones.
This time, seeing the danger of the `flailing hand' gone, called out, "why don't you get him into bed and do it right, big brother?"
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"Whiskey!" James West called out... "Steve Connors?"
"Surprised to see me, Mr. West?"
"Sure as shootin', am!"
"Hey, no offense, Mr. West, but found me a good man," the forty-two year old said, pointing out Bart, at the end of the bar, with a nod.
"Hmm... All the time I've been coming here and I never suspected, Steve."
"Oh yeah and there's more to Bart, than the exterior façade," the learned man adds. He also cues Jim into, "Yep, there's more to Bart, than meets the eye!"
Winking, Jim wonders what else Steve is trying to link to.
"Oh yesiree. Bart is showing me a whole new world I would have never known existed."
With all the hints thrown, Jim can't help but pry, asking, "And what would this `new world', entail?"
"He calls it sadism'. Bart says that over in the old country', they play with whips'n'chains, binding guys up and torturing them, just for the fun of it!"
"You don't say?" Jim proceeds with caution, not wanting to key Steve in to the fact that the practice of bondage, discipline, sadism and masochism, as a pleasurable past time, has been around for centuries and not only over the waves.
"Yeah and between you and me," Steve says, leaning down so that a whisper escapes his lips, into only a particular one's ear, "in the basement of this very pub, is a real live medieval torture chamber!"
"Nooooo!" Jim acts surprised.
Not that Jim has ever `knowingly' been in the dungeon of Bart's pub, but over the last few years, he's been abducted, tied up and taken to a dungeon that's alledged to have been sequestered within the bowels of a tavern. More than once, the keen ears of James West picked out the squeaky door that also leads to the wine cellar.
"There it goes again!"
"There `what goes', Mr. West?"
"Nothing," Jim smiles, alluding to the sound of the door to the wine cellar and dungeon!
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Continued.....
Copyright 2005 T. Luke McPhee This story may not be sold or made part of any collection without prior written permission.